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Literature Text
Suppose each one of us older than the stars,
suppose that we are other than the ragged beggars we seem,
suppose that our engulfing slumber, our inner darkness,
is constantly erupting with the vanity of dreams.
Consider those uncounted aeons swallowed in the oceans
of that virtuality, where we, the ever drowning mariners,
must cling to the absurd shapes we call reality.
Will we, unknowing captives, ever be free?
Has liberty become our cage of captivity?
Oh yes, we writhe, our nakedness become despair.
as our frenzied touching reveals that nothing's there.
suppose that we are other than the ragged beggars we seem,
suppose that our engulfing slumber, our inner darkness,
is constantly erupting with the vanity of dreams.
Consider those uncounted aeons swallowed in the oceans
of that virtuality, where we, the ever drowning mariners,
must cling to the absurd shapes we call reality.
Will we, unknowing captives, ever be free?
Has liberty become our cage of captivity?
Oh yes, we writhe, our nakedness become despair.
as our frenzied touching reveals that nothing's there.
Literature
Z
3:23, the nothing time when sound and motion are as frozen as the outworld
I have something to say, damn it. I can't say it.
My thoughts line up to jump off of a cliff and into the infernal Nothing
Even my dreams have dissipated in cigarette smoke
3:23 AM, my cigarette keeps going out as I hold it forgetfully, inattentive
It has to be lit when I have a cup of coffee going cold in front of me
I try to write something clever and surreal, a map that follows my emotions
From Point A to Point Z, and all points in between
But I always start with Z
Black clowns in a suicide car pull up outside, whispering my name
If I don't go, they'll beg
Literature
Always You
Open my head, reach in, see what you pull out
Nothing but images of you
You in the Hallowed Hollow, you in fancy dress
Flying with the crows through the winter snow
It's always only you
You're on my TV selling cars, fighting mutant worms on Mars
You're in my fridge behind the juice, on jar lids just a bit too loose
You're in my closet wearing my jeans, somehow they fit you better than me
You're in my car, you're in the air, you're in my dreams in your underwear
Open my arm, my vein, see what I bleed out
Nothing but platelets of you
You in the spotlight in New York, you dressed all in white
Healing, working, dancing, dreaming
It's
Literature
ambivalence
it seems that I have lost
my senses,
dripping corduroy blue:
a glass of condescension
and I'll deny everything you've
said.
somewhere between the pastry paint
and the religious
beads of sweat
from your lips to your navel
I've trapped myself
in a cage I lost the keys to.
this is where insanity begins:
too much attention
wasted on the wallpaper
and hours spent meeting anything
but your eyes.
as i'm cradled in the circulation
within alcoholic corks
and blue headlights
your voice tapping at my senses,
your lips replacing mine.
the secret is that I cannot do enough screaming
to drown you out
and I can't be quiet enough
to
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